Welcome back to Warlord Quest! Are you ready for battle? Are you ready for carnage? Are you ready for LOOT? I hope so because im all lubed up and ready to go.

Last time on Warlord Quest, we met the mysterious Lady of The Wild, Cameera, Daughter of the Wild King. After wooing her with great eloquence, we made a 100% wise decision and slept with the Nature spirit, marking our very essence and pledging our help to prevent her fading. After brutally desecrating the villages of Yoel's Chapel, SilverBirch and Moongaze, we ambushed the column of soldiers from Crescent Hall. Slaying the Commanding Lordling and his bodyguards was child's play for someone of our stature.

>>2682683Did we at least take some baubles, pack animals and mounts from the other two villages we time skipped? Who gets to keep the leader's fancy armor ('slightly scratched' condition), has battleaxe and mount?

"Magnus! Magnus! Magnus! Magnus!"The chant carries through the forest around you, drowning out the crackling roar of the burning barricade and the screams and moans of the wounded. Raiders, Warriors, your men and Dagmar's Sons of the Crag Wolves all cheering in victory. Blood has turned the hard packed dirt of the road into sticky muck beneath your feet as you stalk forward towards the fallen corpse of the foolish Lancers who had chosen to charge you alone.

Blood and brain ooze from the gruesome injury that has split his head from brow to throat, one blade of the double sided axe buried between his collarbones. The haft of the battleax is delicately engraved and etched with symbols and lines of sprawling text, likely prayers and praises to the Lady of the Moon.

Your lip curls in contempt as you wrap your fingers around the iron reinforced shaft, your gauntlets sticky with gore, and wrench it free with a wet *crack* and a splatter of brain matter and gore."For Vall!"You bellow, your voice echoing out from your helm, shaking the ground around you as you heft the axe high, blood dripping from the metal and running down your arm.

Urhost hefts his own axe and roars approval, Arvel cheering right alongside him, the savage warriors face smeared with blood and grinning like a loon. Falhim and Torbos howl like animals, smashing their weapons against shields. Wren simply lifts his bow high, nodding slightly while Lionel and Balon look on in stunned shock, their faces slowly turning into savage grins as they too lift their weapons high, barbed spear and heavy mace, adding their bodies voices to the throng.

In all the commotion, all the clamor of the spontaneous chanting, only a few remain silent. Only a few, clustered around a blood soaked young man, his angular face drawn tight with barely contained anger and envy, contempt and rage as *his* men cheer a man that is not their leader. The LEADER of this attack!

One of his sycophants steps forward, gesturing towards you with a dismissive gesture."Dag, c'mon boss, forget that overgrown shit. He just got to that pansy knight before you did. Im sure ya coulda do-*thwack*-gah!"

The raider falls to the ground, nose and mouth gushing blood from the solid blow. Dagmar spits onto the moaning man, glaring at any other would be advice-givers. The tattooed WarLeader points to you with a accusatory finger and snarls in rage at his cronies."That fuckin' troll-son made me look a fool and a coward. Insulting me in front of my men?! Taking MY glory? Killing the commander he KNEW was mine?! What next? He'll claim the glory for the attack on the town?! I won't have it. I wont FUCKIN' HAVE IT!!! He's got Throth's, hes got old Barbas eating out of his hand, Hes got the shaman looking after him like a sick pup!"

Dagmar turns, spitting onto the earth and looking out into the dark as his eyes glitter dangerously, hand clenched on the hilt of his serrated shortswords. Dark thoughts and dark deeds are no stranger to the tattooed Raider and the cruelty of his nature is bubbling like a unmatched pot.

But that is unknown to you. Right now, the only thing on your mind is...

You slowly lower your newly claimed axe, the roaring cheers of the gathered War party fading down in anticipation of your words."Right then! Lets get these fuckers stripped! Any of them still breathe, open their throat and dig through their pockets! Lets get going!"You shout, laughing as men scramble to be the first to rifle through the belongings of officers and fallen knights.

Turning yourself, you stride through the ring of carnage, of butchered knights and fallen horses, blood and bent metal.

Standing over the ruined corpse of Sir Thylos, you plant your boot on his cloven chest, peering down at the fallen Lordling. His great black Destrier snorts unhappily, pawing at the earth with a massive good, watching you with deceptively intelligent eyes, ears flicking back against its skull.

You waste no time in claiming the finely wrought steel battleaxe, even after hewing through the plate armor of its former owner and the helm and skull of a lancer, the edge has taken no visible damage. While you imagine the blade would be weighty in the hands if of lesser men, its as light and easy as a wood chopping axe in yours. You strip off the harness that grips the axe from the back of the fallen Lordling armor. With a few modifications it straps snugly to your belt, the axe fitting onto it as easily as a regular man would a handaxe.

Ripping the dented and rent plates of armor from the fallen Sir Thyllos takes you but the work of minutes, storing the scraps of armor plating in a pack that you call over from a nearby raider.

That just leaves the matter of the massive warhorse. The beast paws the ground, snorting and frothing as you approach slowly, whinnying unhappily as it looks from you to the fallen body of its former master."Easy boy... Eaaasy.... Its alright..."

>>2683170Keep your shield on hand incase it tries to trample or kick you, and a lasso in case we fail and we try to flee.Approach it slowly and calmly. Offer it a clean open palm and see what it does. If it's not kicking our head off then offer the beast some veggies or jerky.

I hope the spirit lady's blessing will help us tame it. Could it be her mark that's the reason the horse didn't attack or run away after it's rider was killed?

>>2683323No joke, we take the horse back to our village and use it to stud for the next generation of raiding horses. We won't be able to have an army of griffons yet, but improving our horse stock can only help us.

"Easy boy. Easy. Im not gonna hurt you..."You keep your voice low and level as you approach the massive warhorse, hands spread wide, empty palms shown so that the beast can tell you have nothing. The destrier snorts, shaking its head uneasily as you advance, pawing a furrow into the ground as it tilts its head slightly."You want to run don't you? To crush skulls beneath your feet? To be free and wild? You'd like that wouldn't you?"

Step by step, closer and closer, inch by inch you draw closer to the beast, the horses eyes fixed on yours as the healing welts on your shoulder tingle, the scent of rotting leaves and clear water, soil and wind through the trees filling your nostrils as a voice whispers alongside your words in a language dead for aeons."Im not gonna hurt you big guy. Come on. Come on. Come here"

And to your amazement, the destroyer steps forward, one tiny cautious step after another, sniffing the air carefully and flicking its long tail back and forth, ears swiveling like mad. You cant help but smile as the warhorse sniffs your outstretched palm, velvety skin lipping at your hand in search of a treat."I don't have any apples but im sure we can get some where we're going eh?"

"What'n the bloody fuck was that?"Comes Urhost's shocked voice as he leans against a pile of stripped corpses, his blood smeared forearms crossed across his chest."Did you just get a Moonie warhorse to come to you like a nervous fuck'n puppy?"

You can't help but laugh softly as you brush the beasts neck with your hand, smoothing away dirt and dust from the road, small snorts and huffs coming from the destrier as it leans forward, butting its head and neck toward you."I guess im just good with animals. Whats the matter? Never had a horse?"

Urhost crackles, scratching his beard as he shakes his head."No, to be honest, never did. Back when I was a young'n we had a few garrons and donkeys that we had stolen from the Moonies. But that? That is a damn fine piece of horseflesh."

You slowly edge around to the beasts side, rubbing his neck and speaking softly and calmly as you do. Gripping the saddle you do the same thing you did with the larger horses back in the Warhounds and brace your foot in the stirrup, pulling yourself up and swinging a leg over the beasts back in one smooth movement. "Be careful Magnus. He prob'ly ain't used to folks your size hopping on him"Urhost warns, eying the size difference between yourself and the slain Knight. A difference of well over two hundred pounds.

As a credit to his species, the massive warhorse doesn't even stumble, adjusting quickly to your weight and snorting softly as it paws the earth, the smell of smoke and blood seeming to excite the beast. You grin cockily at Urhost's stunned expression, Arvel and Balon laughing like madmen in the background as you swing your shield around to your back, taking the reins in one hand.

"He seems plenty strong enough to me. This is a proper horse, not one of those little ponies the moonies *think* is a horse!"You chuckle, taking the Destrier in a wide circle, the beast seeming to take pleasure in stomping the skull of one particular fallen knight into the muck.

>Horse Mounted Combat- You have an additional +10 chance to hit against non mounted enemies and your first hit (the charge) receives an additional damage die. Spear weapons receive +2DD on a charge.

>You have gained the Mounted Skill: Trample. You will have to acquire a Cavalry Expert to the Crags Retinue to learn more Mounted Skills.

At your gesture, Arvel jogs over, grabbing your DarkSteel spear and the Storm blade, holding the heavy weapons with only slightly more effort than you do. Offering them to you hilt first, he peers good maturely at you, bumping the warhorse with a knuckle as it snorts at him."'ere ya go Magnus. Good job on tha' high born git. Finishin'im in th'mud like that? Serves'im right fer bein' a snotty cunt"He laughs, his voice grinding like stone and rusted metal as he smacks your thigh hard enough to numb the flesh of a lesser man.

You laugh yourself, the brute of a raider being too good natured to remain stoic around him."Figured it had been a while since he'd fought on his feet. He was out of practice looks like"

Urhost snorts, wiping his nose with a thumb as he approaches, his face and arms streaked with blood"Most Moonie knights aren't worth shit off'a their horses. Ya manage to get them down, odds are they don't get back up. That was damn impressive though."

Taking the reins and adjusting your weight in the saddle, you urge the horse forward, looking out across the ambush site. Already, some of the raiders are stripping down to their underclothes, pulling on the bloodstained and torn garments and mail of the slaughtered Crescent Hall guardsmen. Smearing blood and filth over the shields and tunics, hiding the worst of the rents in the mail behind the garb. The men are quickly becoming a passable imitation of the guards, albeit a badly depleted replica.

You call out to a nearby raider, reining back the massive horse and pointing with your free hand."You there? Where is Dagmar? We need to get on the move!"

The raider drops the dagger he was using to saw a finger finger off of a still moaning mans hand and stammers out "He- hes that way Magnus! He's headed towards the town to make sure none of them got away!"

>>2683742>"We'll wait for him to get back" (go speak with a lieutenant)I'm still thinking we should talk to our former Moonie. Dagmar is probably slaughtering people and we don't want to start a fight with him yet

You scowl, spitting off of your new mount and causing the twitchy raider to jump back."Guess we're fucking waiting then aren't we? Get the dead piled up off the road, scavenge weapons and armor where you can and try to round up some of these horses. They'll be useful."

The raider looks from side to side, the painted symbols on his face decorated with beads of blood like jewels as he stares at you stupidly"Me?"

You resist the urge to crush the idiots skull under your boot and spit out between your clenched teeth."No. Not you. Find someone smart enough to do what I said and tell THEM. NOW."

You shake your head in disappointment as the raider falls over himself to get away from you, his bloodied dagger clutched in his hands. If all Dagmars men are this stupid you would be surprised if any of them made it out tomorrow.

After dismounting and tying the destrier to a sturdy tree, stripping off the saddle and bridle, pulling the iron bit from between his jaws, you spend a moment patting the midnight black horse until he calms himself to the new sounds and scents around him. Leaving the horse along with a very detailed and gruesome warning should anybody bother him, you set out along the ambush site turned impromptu camp.

The provisions and supplies of the guards and Lancers are being used for a spur of the moment feast it seems, the men eating with the appetites of those who had risked death and won. Your own men eat more sedately, knowing their true test will be tomorrow in the battle for the town itself.

You make your way to the small campfire your more senior officers and lieutenants sit around, chewing mouthfuls of stew and bread, repairing armor and sharpening weapons.

Arvel and Balon animatedly discuss the finer points of the ambush with Torbos, the young archer having been with the Skirmishers for the majority. Arvel excitedly recounts the story of you barging through a wall of Moonie Spearmen, crushing bones with your very footsteps.

Wren is trimming the fetching on his arrows, sharpening their barbed heads with a small whetstone until the metal gleams silvery blue. Giving you a small nod, he returns to his work, dipping each finished arrowheads in a vial of some sticky black liquid. Falhim sits nearby, using a scrap of cloth to wipe the edges of a pair of long bladed daggers with a clear, viscous oil, being careful not to touch the edges with his bare fingers

Urhost sips a mug of watered down ale, staring into the fire as he idly rubs his thumb across the small figurine he was carving the night before. His face is creased in thought and he seems to be far away in his own mind.

Lionel runs a whetstone along a stolen saber, sharpening the curved blade to a razor sheen, his wide bladed spear having been replaced with a more accustomed leaf bladed one. A round shield with a dully pointed boss sits between his feet. He looks up to you, clears his throat before seeming to thinking better of it, returning to his task.

>>2684155Aight aight.Let's Start with Urhost first. He obviously has something on his mind the way he's thumbing his humanoid shaped figurine and staring off into the fire. Is he thinking about his kids and retirement?

We should also think about trading some of our excess weapons/trophies or giving them out as gifts to our lieutenants. This axe is probably magical so we keep it, maybe have it reforged along with the fuckhammer and storm blade to make Stormbreaker.

Sitting down across from Urhost, you clear your throat loudly, snatching Urhost from his thoughts with a jerk."Whats that you have there?"You ask, gesturing towards the figurine in his hands. The small, humanoid carving looks even smaller in the large mans hand as he idly brushes his thumb across it, unaware of the blood he smears across it.

Urhost coughs, blinking and looking away for a moment before returning his gaze to you and grinning ruefully"This? Its... Its ah... Its me. Its not done yet, never been a good hand at whittlin' but...Its for the little ones. Back home with Hylla. Kolth and Dera, I know ya never met'em but im always tellin' em stories. Always trying to make sure they remember."

You extend your hand slightly, gesturing towards the small figurine."Let me take a look?"

Urhost nods, his bushy beard twitching as his mouth jerks into a smile for a second before handing over the small hardwood figurine. Turning it over in your hands, you can't help but disagree with Urhost. He's a exceptional woodcarver, the small figurine already a passable representation of him. Carved from some light but extremely hard wood, Urhost has chiseled and scraped, carved and chipped away the material until you can make out details of his habitual hide and chain armor, the half plate gauntlets already coming to life, the heavy bladed axe held crosswise across the torso slowly taking shape as more of Urhost's self sculpture is revealed. The small statue already has Urhost's trademark scowl across its half finished face.

"Its good work."You gingerly hand back the figurine, Urhost gratefully accepting both it and the compliment with a pleased nod.

"Thanks Magnus. I just want the lil ones to have something to remember me by if I do something stupid and get myself skewered like my da"Urhost laughs darkly, rubbing the figurine with his thumb, working the blood into the material. Its intentional, you realize, using the blood and grime to stain the wood a darker color, to etch the trade of their father into a keepsake for his children.

>>2684781supported.also"...and Urhost. You got a gift besides violence and being ugly as fuck. Maybe after this its time to try your hand at that trade, be around the crag more? I could cut you in on more of the loot for this one. What say you?"

You regard Urhost silently for a moment, considering how to respond to the veteran warriors thoughts. Finally, nodding to yourself, you undo the straps holding your newly acquired greataxe. Standing, you extend the weapon to Urhost, nodding as he blinks in shock"Maybe you'll last a little bit longer with a better weapon."

Handing him the new axe you sit heavily and chuckle, gesturing towards the weapon as Urhost runs a thumb across the edge, testing the razor sharpness of the steel with an appreciative grunt "Give that a try and let's see if you don't prove yourself worthy of greater things"

Urhost barks out his coarse, rough laughter as he nods, placing the axe across his knees as he inclines his head for a moment, patting the ironbound shaft as he speaks."Thank ya Magnus. Thank ya greatly. This... This is a fine weapon an' im honored by your gift. I promise to ya, ill repay it ten times over 'fore I go"

>>2685605Magnus is probably going to be the type of dad he needs to be.

The world Magnus lives in is exceedingly brutal and harsh, with danger around every corner. Life in a tribal society is simple but demanding. Being a load on the group will result in ostracism and being an ass or a weakling will result in shunning and possibly expulsion from the tribe with nowhere else to go.

Magnus will probably love his children but first and foremost he will mold them into the people they NEED to be in order to survive and become successful in the world.

Hopefully he doesn't become a disappointed father but the nature childrearing is that you can try your best and do the right thing and be a good role model, but if your kid decides to be a moron and fuck up or not fix their mistakes then there's nothing you can do, and that's the most bitter part about being a parent.

Leaving Urhost to admire his new axe and whittle on his memento for his toddlers, you fix your gaze on Lionel, waving him over with a tired gesture."Lionel? Something on your mind?"

The blonde spearman nods, sheathing his freshly looted saber and rising, making his way over to sit near to you. You notice that he has already improved his own armor with hardened leather bracers, covered with mail along with a shirt of mail underneath his hide armor, cinched tightly to prevent any clinking. Tossing back hair sticky with clots of blood, Lionel takes a swig of his waterskin before leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he gestures around to the piled bodies of the slaughtered guards and Lancers."Glad you asked Magnus. These uh... These men? They're Lord Thylos's men. He's one of Lord Tessare's bannermen. Now I couldn't tell you a lot about the Wyrm himself but Lord Thylos is a name I know well."

You chew your cheek as you focus on Lionel with rapt attention."Go on..."

Lionel clears his throat, suddenly looking a bit lost for words."Well... What do you want to know first?"

>>2685808We took him and Balon as "prisoners" in an early raid. We allowed them to earn a place as warriors. So, if I remember right they went on the chicken hunt but they were still in their trial period

Like the horse will be a goal for him to work for to aspire to greater heights and kill moah moonies and lame tribals. When we're done asking him all the questions, what say you we introduce him to the horse and see where things go from there?

>>2685839>calvary lieutenantLil' nigs already moving up in the crag. After the raid, if we can keep our men from eating the horses and have DarkSky breed all the mares, we'll soon have some mighty mounts in a few years.

"Well for starters, what can you tell me about the man himself? This, Lord Thylos?"You ask, clapping your hands together and leaning back against your pack, raising a brow as Lionel nods and racks his brain.

"Ah. Right then. Well Lord Thylos is, as most of the Wyrms underlings are, exceptionally greedy and arrogant. The castle at Deepwater crossing, its just called The Bridge, he rarely ever leaves, just charges expensive ass tolls to cross it. He's a gilded cunt, thinks himself a far greater warrior than he is but he's a coward from what I've heard. He may have been a capable warrior in his younger days but now he relies on his 'knights' and his dimwit sons to do his fighting for him."Lionel is silent for a moment and you can't help but smirk. It seems that cowardice and inflated sense of skill are a plague in the Moon Lords. You'll have to do something about his sons however should you meet them on the field.

You nod, scratching your beard and pulling free a tangle of hair as you wave your free hand, eying Lionel."His men? His soldiers? What of them?"

Lionel thinks for a moment, rubbing his neck and chewing his lip."The towns of Crescent Hall and HighHome are his, they supply men and crops along with what iron they mine from the hills and cliffs. The villages and farms scattered throughout his lands supply a steady stream of warm bodies for the levies, his tithes to Lord Caius and his standing men at arms. Id say maybe three hundred and fifty, four hundred half trained spearmen, a few companies of archers, mainly farmers with bows. Maybe, on the high end, maybe two hundred competent soldiers. Mainly armored doormen, halberds, glaives, crossbows, what have you"

You can't help but scowl as you come to the conclusion that no matter how hard you fought, you couldn't hope to fight even a "small" force such as that. You'd need the backing of the entire Clan behind you. Your eyes gleam as you recall a choice of words."You called him a gilded cunt... This twat is rich eh?"

Lionel laughs darkly, nodding as he spits onto the soil"Aye. He's got rich the same way lots of other twats did. By fucking the poor straight in the ass and then charging em for their time. He's got two of the most profitable silver mines outside the Hollow Peak and let me say its no secret that the loads coming out are a bit light"

>Lord Thylos has multiple sons and cousins in his retinue>Lord Thylos is a poor warrior>Lord Thylos commands 4 units of Levy Spearmen, 2 units of Levy Longbowmen and 2 units of Men-at-arms>Lord Thylos embezzles quite a bit of silver from his mines.

>>2685902>He isn't a cavalry move trainer (the one that would allow you to learn mounted moves) if you promote or assign him to cavalry trainer, he will allow the Crag Wolves to begin fielding mounted units.

>>2685894Ask Lionel to become cavalry trainer, let him know we appreciate his information, make a joke about how the fact that Thylos is stealing is good for us when we eventually kick his door in and take it all.

>>2685912Isn't that the opposite? It's like >>2683731 said. He's a better cavalry guy than a ground fighter. Far from it to have the guy who specializes on horseback fighting to do anything but and let his skills be squandered.Why do you think it would be a waste of his time as opposed to whatever else he could be doing with it?

>>2685941Which is why we get Lionel to break in any wild or new born mounts and train people to ride them. It's not like trainers are a dime a dozen. Sure, I bet there's a surf somewhere in the crag to care and train for the animals, but the can't train a man to ride them for war.

>>2685941>struggle to bring back home.but haven't we used pack animals to carry our dank loot all the way to the crag? I'm not seeing an issue here besides building or excavating a stable area for the animals, which is something we could probably get commissioned or requested to be build.

>>2685960In the first two raids, donkeys,mules, horses, ponies, even large sheep and dogs were burdened down with loot. The Crag isn't just a mountainous natural fortress, there is a small valley behind it that is used as farmland and grazing for the herds of the Crag Wolves animals.

>>2685907>Ask Lionel to become Cavalry Trainer Y/NYIf we can get a trained light cavalry force to harass enemies, we could use them for mongol shit. Feigned retreats, luring charging enemy cavalry into ambushes, chasing down enemies, and capturing more fleeing villagers as thralls and potential recruits. Obviously that’s a long way off, but having a trained cavalry archer force or combination lancer/archer cavalry like sipahi would give us more options. Plus the best of them could be candidates for our future monstrous cavalry force for when we capture more baby griffins and griffin eggs.

Even if cavalry isn't our primary strength, there is literally no downside to having the option of a mounted unit. If Lionel continues to prove himself reliable, I'd say we establish a detached mounted unit and let him lead it under our loose command.

You laugh, rubbing your chin as you imagine the hoarded piles of silver and other wineries that must fill the vaults of Lord Thylos, let alone those of Lord Mari Tessare. Pure black hatred wells up in your heart like bile as you think of the man, of the two years you had been prisoner in his mines until you had been set free by Throth himself, a raid on the iron mines delivering you to your chance at vengeance. Forcing down the burning fury, you turn your thoughts to what could be done with wealth of that caliber."Its good to know that he's keeping that silver safe for us. Id hate for something to happen to it before we kick his door down, put his pinched little head on a pike and take it for our own"

Both you and Lionel both laugh heartily, the ex-Lancer clapping his hands together and making to stand, stopping as you reach out."Lionel, hold on a second. Ive got a job for you if you want it"

Lionel sits back down, eying you curiously, Urhost and Wren watching the conversation carefully."Of course Magnus. What do you need?"

You gesture towards the tethered horses captured from the fallen lancers, some of your men gathered around them curiously, brushing their coats and attempting to soothe the agitated animals."You were a Lancer before i picked you up in Rhya's hill right? Ive seen you with a spear and you're damn good. Wren has seen you with a bow and he's the best judge of that kind of talent i know. My men know how to fight as well as damn near anyone in these mountains but only on foot. Do you think you could help them figure out how to fight from a horse?"

Lionel chews his cheek, blinking in shock before narrowing his eyes, focusing on the horses and the men around them. Riding a horse and fighting from horseback, with bow and lance and sword, are two entirely different things but..."It wont be easy. I doubt any of these men have ridden anything for longer than they could hold onto it but I believe with time and some help, aye I could do it."

>Lionel will begin training Mounted Units at the Crag. You will have to have both a supply (1 Herd) of horses and at least 1 (one) unit of Raiders or Skirmishers. As of now, you have 1 Herd of Horses and 1 unit each of Raiders and Skirmishers.>Unit unlocked: Raider Horsemen>Unit Unlocked: Mounted Skirmishers

>>2686562>>2686534>>2686564>>2686571We need to do this but I feel like we should talk to Wren and Urhost about what just transpired. We should always keep our lieutenants in the loop especially since they were watching.

>>2686520>Tell Wren and Urhost about our decision with Lionel, then go to see Arvel, Balon, and Torbos.

Wren’s skirmishers might be a good mounted unit. If I remember correctly (at work otherwise I’d fact check myself) Wren was familiar with horses and riding. And the whole mongol archer-cavalry idea >>2686118 mentioned is brilliant.

I like the idea of Magnus leading the raiders on horseback with our new horse but I think the light arched cavalry would be more useful for now.

And the idea of Magnus ranging alone through enemy formations, mounted on our new warhorse with our growing griffon, seeking our and slaughtering enemy champions is pretty bad assed.

>Sorry for being so sluggish, its been a hectic day.>Speak with Balon, Arvel and Lionel

Rising from your seat, you stride past Lionel, patting him heavily on the back as you pass. He grunts as the weighty blow drives the breath from his lungs, Urhost snorting in laughter.

Arvel and Balon sit across from a smaller campfire, roasting what looks to be chunks of horse on skewers, the unlucky beast falling on the battlefield. Torbos turns the skewers, laughing at the story as Arvel gnaws a greasy, bloody chunk between his jagged teeth as Balon recounts a tale of some battle back in the Legion."So there'e was, big fuck'n Wil'born bast'rd. Horns on'im longer than me prick and nearly as big aroun'! 'alf me squads dead or run't away, screamin' like lil girls. This ugly bast'rd finishes rippin' the corp'rals head off'n turns t'me. 'Es got a hammer heavier'n I am an' hes holdin' that bleedin' head like y'would a egg an' all I got is me Halberd, fer all its worth, fucker'd already taken a dozen of 'em. 'E pounds his chest, the big'uns barely wear any armor, an' charges me, ground shakin' like a cavalry charge"

Torbos, wide eyed, nods in agreement"He's got a point Balon, how DID you survive fighting one of those monsters? Ive heard that the Wildfolk Old Bloods can get up to twelve feet tall"

Balon smirks, his broken and cracked teeth showing in the firelight as he bites into a hunk of meat, grease dripping down his scarred chin."Aye. I di'nt have'ta do a thing. Legion Artill'ry Corp did most'a the work fer me. I just heard th'whistle an' hit the dirt. Dumb fuck ran straight int'a shot from a scorpion! Ran'im clean through. I took m'time, let'im bleed a lil and then put the spike on my halberd through'is fuckin' eye"

Arvel crackles out his hoarse, barking laughter, slapping his knees and punching Torbos in the arm so hard the younger warrior nearly falls off his log.

>>2687606The only one in the Crag I think could possibly make one would be the blacksmith, but that's sort of iffy. Plus that would take up his time to make and forge other items. Perhaps if we're lucky, on the raid we can capture some inventors and carpenters from some guilds. They might be able to make us something. If not we can steal some from a fort.

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes with a grease slickened finger, Arvel cackles madly, chunks of half chewed meat flying from his mouth to sizzle and smoke in the fire as he leans forward, waving his gnawed and singed skewer like a baton"Ahahahaha!!! That's a good'n! That's a good'n! Them Wildfolk're tough fuckers, as mean as they're ugly. But ya didn't Kill'im yerself did ya? Now listen'ere an'slow ill tell ya how a REAL warrior kills something"

Torbos excitedly leans forward, listening intently as Balon scoffs dismissively, spitting a hunk of gristle into the coals as Arvel clears his throat"Years ago, when I was a smaller an' prettier man, I was raidin' a Sky Watchers village under Turth Red-Eye when 'e was still livin'. Huts're burnin' left an' right, folks fightin' an' dyin', those damn eagles o'theirs snatchin' men up an' droppin'em from so high up they *splashed* when they hit."

Balon coughs, wiping grease from his mouth as he speaks around a mouthful of meat"The Sky Watchers? Those bloody cunts kill't so damn many of us with their bows th'Legion made our damn shields thicker! Not to fuck'n mention those giant ass eagles... First time I saw one, thought it were a damn dragon! Grabbed a man right off th'walls an' was gone. Only thing left were his boots"

Arvel nods sagely, rolling up a sleeve to reveal a long, purple puckered scar that have diagonally across his right arm."One'a the feathery fuckers grabbed ME! Big black eyed bastard, wingspan near fourth feet. Grabbed me an' me mate Kargas, started carrying us up. 'Ventually we were s'damn high, the village looked like a ants nest. Thats when it let go. Kargas fell, screamin' th'whole way down. I dug my knife into its leg an' held on. It kept flyin' an' I kept climbin', diggin' in an' grabbin' handfuls'o feathers. 'Ventually I got up to its back. Now, I dunno what crazy cunt is in charge o'those fuckers but they've got stones cause there was a lass didn't on the beasties back! In a fuck'n saddle! Real pretty thing, tattoos on her face an' arms, scarred up nice an' fierce, tits like ripe melons."

"How come I haven't seen'er around then? Woman like that, fierce an' strong, thought you'da took her for wife or slave or whatever ya call it"Balon cuts in, his eyes glittering lecherously as he imagines the warrior woman.

Arvel laughs darkly, waving his hand dismissively"I thought about it fer a hot second until she started screechin' an' slashin' at me wit' her dagger. So I took me knife, buried it to th'hilt in'er skull an' threw her off."

"But weren't you so far up in the air that you could barely see the ground?"Asks Torbos, leaning in and drinking in every word"How did you survive, Arvel?"

>>2688050The scarred brute cackles out his usual mad laughter and pantomimes grabbing a pair of reins."I took hold'o the harness she was usin' to steer the beastie. I weren't tied in like she was so divin' was outta the question. So I steered the big fucker as close t'the mountainside as I could, drive me hatchet into the base'o its skull an' jumped. Snow is softer an' harder than it looks, by the way. Broke me arm in two places an' three ribs but I walked meself back to the camp we were usin' an' slept for three days. Woke up when they started buryin' me. Fuckers thought I was dead!"

All three of the warriors burst in laughter at the mental image of a bloodied and mangled Arvel beating his would be gravediggers with his bare hands. Even you can't help but crack a grin at the half-mad raiders story

Bidding your companions a good night, you pull your bedroll from your pack and unroll it against a log, using your pack as a pillow. Throwing a arm over your face to block out the flickering firelight, you quickly fall into a deep slumber. It seems as if Vall and Cameera both know you need rest as they thankfully leave your dreams be.

Instead you are treated to the half remembered flashes of a life long ago. The smell of straw and woodsmoke, the sounds of chickens clucking obliviously, the lazy moo's of a well fed cow as Father went out with the milk bucket. Mother's smile, warm like the sun as she ladled leftover stew into a clay bowl, her mouth moving but the words long forgotten, only the faintest memory of a voice, soft and sweet like birdsong. Her eyes don't match her tone however, worried and tense. Something is bothering her. Something is scaring her...

You wake as the camp begins rousing itself, Dagmar striding through the rabble of tents and bedrolls, his cronies kicking men awake, shouting and shoving. The man himself steps atop a stump and cups his hands around his mouth, his leather and chain armor covered by a torn and bloodstained guards tunic."Up and at'em you lazy cunts! Too tired to fuck some moon sluts?! Waaaake UP!!"He roars, smashing a metal pot with the back of a hatchet, laughing madly

Arvel rolls over, throwing a horse rib in the tattooed raiders general direction, grumbling to himself as he wipes grease and drool from his lips"Fuckin' cunt... Was havin' a good dream..."

Wren unveils from his crosslegged seat by the fire, a clay mug of herbal tea in his hands. Taking one last sip of the steaming liquid he hands it to the grousing raider, chuckling to himself."Here big guy. Tastes like a trolls ass but it'll wake you up"

Urhost pulls on his chain and hide armor, rolling his massive shoulders to seat the material against his skin, grinning firefly"How much troll ass you been tastin' Wren?"

The mutilated Scout shrugs nonchalantly, pulling his mask back up to his eyes."You eat what you have to when you're on a long watch Urhost. I know for a fact you ate a Ogres big toe on a bet so don't act high and mighty"

Balon and Falhim both laugh heartily, stuffing their belongings back into their packs and rising to their feet. Their crackles renew as Arvel takes a hesitant sip of of the tea, his face taking a noticeable green tinge as he winces, coughing and sputtering."What th'bloody fuck ya put in this shit Wren?!"

Wren scratches his head, making a show of ticking off ingredients on his fingers before shrugging"Ehh....dont worry about it. Most of its not even hurt you... At least in small doses..."

Within minutes, the War party is ready to move, the camouflaged raiders at the front of the group, feigning injury with bandages and bloody clothing. Dagmar rides at the head of the group on a stolen horse, bloodied bandages wrapped about his arm and thigh.

You quickly belt off orders to Urhost and Wren, the pair of seasoned warriors wasting no time in getting your men on the march. Campfires are doused and boots hit the road, your men organised into a nearly neat column that makes steady time along the roadway.

Making your way ahead, you quickly spot the redheaded crossbow wielding Skirmisher that normally has his nose planted up Dagmars ass. Meier is swaggering along the trail, his oversized crossbow unslung and held across his body as he jokes with some underling about the way a Lancer had begged for his life after taking a bolt through the belly. His story halts on his lips as he notices you pushing along the ragged band of Dagmars men toward him, the sniper sneering, his eyes glittering with malice as he turns his head to face you fully."What do YOU want? Forget where we're headed so soon? Thats what happens when you focus on stealing glory instead of following your betters"

>"That fuckin' troll-son made me look a fool and a coward. Insulting me in front of my men?! Taking MY glory? Killing the commander he KNEW was mine?! What next? He'll claim the glory for the attack on the town?! I won't have it. I wont FUCKIN' HAVE IT!!! He's got Throth's, hes got old Barbas eating out of his hand, Hes got the shaman looking after him like a sick pup!"Seriously guys. If this fucking twig has a problem with Magnus and the way he dishes out the pain, then he should say it to our face. Not winge and wine about it in the back seat. Grow some backbone ya pansy.

>>2690483Let's shoot the shit with him. Hows a little man like him going to use a large crossbow like that?

>>2690483Say something like, “I would’ve followed the lot of you but it’s so easy to lose you short men in the press of battle. Especially when you run off afterwards... speaking of which. Where did you run off to?”

You fix the smaller man with a cold stare, suppressing the desire to rip off his bottom jaw and shove it down whats left of his throat. You stare so intently that the cocky smile fades from his face. The arrogant sniper seems ready to fire off some foul natured jab when you force a friendly smile to your face, chuckling darkly."Oh I was following my betters. Barbas taught me well. I was first into the thickest fighting, seeking to cut the head from the serpent. Funnily enough, I didn't see you there"Your smile has all the warmth and kindness of a frozen river, frigid death waiting just below a flimsy crust.

Meier sputters, a flush creeping up his neck as his men mutter, several snickering as the sniper wipes his nose with the back of his hand"I was following orders. Shooting down the moonie fucks as they tried to ride away, not stomping through a bunch of half trained peasants like that makes me a hero"

Ignoring the attempted jab, you gesture towards the oversized crossbow cradled like a child in Meiers hands, the weapon adorned with careful engravings and etchings. The wood of the stock and butt braced with strips of iron, the arms of the crossbow made from layered horn and iron strips, the string a single braided strand of oiled cord. The weapon looks immensely powerful, capable of devastating penetration, if incredibly slow to fire."You were feathering the moon cunts eh? What do you get out of that thing? Two shots a minute? Maybe?"

Meier scoffs, patting the crossbow proudly and running a hand along the well polished stock"I can get four shots a minute if I don't aim for the eyes. HeartPiercer here can punch a bolt through one man and the fucker behind him from three hundred paces. I was knocking those fucks off their horses and nailing their asses to the ground at a full gallop. Not even that scarred up freak of yours can shoot like me"

>>2690746"Yeah, Wren's more about stealth and moving around. But I don't think it's a fair comparison. Your nose is so long you probably use it for aiming, but thinking about it. I noticed a whole bunch of Draggar's men fuckin' full of arrows like pin cushions. Was that you're aiming or taken a day off?"

>>2690746Four shots a minute? That's a shot every fifteen second. If you can shoot down moonies as fast as you pop your top / pop your cherry / blow your load (i'm not sure which is more appropriate) then you really are one hell of a sniper.

>>2690746So serious business here. What do you do on the chance someone get close to you. Got a smaller hand crossbow on you? A composite bow? Sword n dagger? You run away and let someone else deal with the problem?

>>2690746"He knows what he is. Which is more than I can say for Ryk. Though that whore's son moves fast enough I don't think you could ever nail him down."

Lets try to get him talking shit about dagmars other men. See what he knows. We just keep him talking, feed him mild challenges to get him to boast, and then a tiny nod of acknowledgement. The man is a sycophant. Conclude the conversation that if his current band is so great, why hasn't he achieved greatness? Is he being held back? Out of indifference...fear...disrespect?

>>2690746>Magnus looks at the wee little crooked nose ginger holding a crossbow 3 pecker sizes too large for him. Magnus takes takes one of his fingers and pops it against a joint with a crack like the snapping of a bow "Dagmar, Dagmar. Dagmar. Let me ask ya, you little git? Are you so cunt dicked that whenever Dagnar gets his panties in a bundle that it crawls up your own cheeks? When you're doing your little pep talks with him, do you kiss him front to back or offer yourself to his behind?">Magnus says with a big grin on his face, wanting smack the man silly. He grabs the little 'un by the arms and holds him up"You ever wonder why my lieutenant has scars all over his face?">He spits past the gingers head, whatever Magnus had to eat the morning becoming all to apparent in the man's nostrils "It's because he knows what having a man next to his face look like. And it comes a lot faster than this.">He drops the poor sniper onto the ground letting him collapse onto himself should he fail to balance "So what, you get your kicks from hitting these raids in their sleep? Nice and safe behind your little cover with your big man's cross bow? It seemed to be a little good when I see Dagnar's men covered in blood and arrows, and Vaal's hot balls be damned if one of those lancers even smelled you shittin' yourself. I took on 7 on them without even being nicked. You on the other hand, have a nose longer than your pecker, and balls smaller than your wit. If Dagnar spent as much time training his troops as he does smacking his knackers, maybe something you could say might be worth it."

>>2691271I’m not sure where the desire to betray Dagmar is even coming from... like yes he’s not a good guy, he’s a whiny asshole and all that. Throth asked us to be here and watch his back, plus he’s a fellow Crag Wolf, that means something. Magnus was a mercenary before he was a crag Wolf, he’d understand that you don’t have to like everyone you work with but you have to work with them. I’m all for showing that we’re the superior warband but bickering like children is beneath us.

>>2691271Supporting. We don’t even have to betray Dagmar, just be there to cleanup whatever’s left of the moonies after Dagmar gets himself and his men killed trying to out glory Magnus, a literal tank who is tough, armored and has lifesteal.

>>2691840the big thing is this; there is no intent to betray dagmar, but he has every intent to view us as a rival and threat. He will attempt to "put us in our place" or kill us, because the dude has designs on leadership of the crag wolves. read between the lines on what you've seen so far. When we stole his glory, we took something from him. This mission is not just a normal one, its an upscaled version of Barbas's training pits. You see what comes out and judge it's character accordingly.

The end goal would be to subjugate Dagmar by breaking him down so he doesn't try anything funny, but before this run is over, I am sure we are going to have to watch out for a knife in our back.

You clench your fist at the insult to your lieutenant but don't admonish the cocky ginger yet. Wren is a man grown and can educate this upjumped test himself. Instead of pummeling the man into a red paste, you shrug, gesturing towards the Ryk, the bowlegged berserker at the head of a pack of particularly feral looking Raiders."He knows what he is. He doesn't claim to be some great marksman or a face to admire. He lets his skills speak for him. Which is more than I can say for Ryk. Though that whore's son moves fast enough I don't think you could ever nail him down."

Meier scoffs, jerking his head towards the masked savage."Ryk is a dog. Barely has the wits to do anything besides kill anything Dagmar tells him to. He has his uses, doesn't even take a share of the loot either. He just wants blood"Meier turns slightly to regard Wren and your other lieutenants out of the corner of his eye"Ill give it to that tricksy fucker. He's a hell of a scout and a tracker. Ive heard of him hunting a group for weeks at a time, taking shots and killing them slow, using poison and barbed heads. Cowards weapons"

>>2692236>Magnus spits on the ground"Tell ya what, the coward had the stones to wrap up a big old white howlers and even had the guts to take Bloodbeak's own chicks from him. I wouldn't be one to test his courage."

You spit onto the earth in contempt of Meiers words, the smaller man shying back as the liquid splatters at his feet, a red flush colouring his neck. You growl out your next words, each syllable heavy with veiled threat."Ill Tell you what, that 'coward' had the stones to pin down a old white howler and hold the ropes himself. That 'coward' even had the guts to take Bloodbeak's own chicks and eggs from him, keeping the beast back one shot at a time. I wouldn't be one to test his courage."

Your voice lifts as you carry on, a broad smile across your face"You're right though Meier, attacking from a distance, so far that a foe can hardly see you, THAT is a coward's tactic, it's true. Thats why I get as close as possible. I want to *feel* the rush when I hack a man in half"The men behind you mutter and whisper among themselves as Meier remains silent, his fingers drumming on the stock of his crossbow. He finally speaks, his voice low and measured, controlled carefully."Perhaps he has more courage to him than I thought. We have different ways of doing things Magnus. I fight my way, you fight yours. As long as the fucker is dead, its a happy ending regardless don't you agree?"

>>2692642>the camouflaged raiders at the front of the group, feigning injury with bandages and bloody clothing. Dagmar rides at the head of the group on a stolen horse, bloodied bandages wrapped about his arm and thigh.

You decide to leave the questions for later, the cocky sniper seeming if not warmer to your presence then at least more respectful. Slowing your pace to allow your lieutenants to catch up to you, you fill them in on what hap transpired, Wren scoffing openly at Meiers insults.

The miles of road melt away beneath your feet, the town of Crescent Hall growing closer with every step. Trees slowly fade away to fields and outlying hamlets, frightened eyes watching from shuttered Windows. These peasants are below your interest, they are no threat to you and have no chance of warning anybody before you are out of the area.

Finally, near evening, you come over the final rise in the road, the town of Crescent Hall nestled against a sheer cliff in the distance. A stout wood and earth wall stretches around the perimeter of the town, each corner capped by a stout stone and log tower. Around the outskirts of the wall, huts and shacks belonging to the poorer and less fortunate townsfolk cluster like frightened chicks around a mother hen. Dagmars group is visible far ahead, barely two miles from the barred wooden gates. The distant tolling of a bell reaches your ears, some sentry reporting a the 'return' of their soldiers.

You roll your neck and shoulders, bone and tendon cracking heavily as you breathe in the air, woodsmoke and soot heavy on the wind. You turn, facing your lieutenants, one hand resting on the hilt of the storm blade."Its time"

>Wren and his infiltrator team will sneak into the Town via the Well with Ryk and some of his savages>Arvel and Urhost will participate in the main attack with the bulk of Dagmars forces.>Meier will supply ranged support on the main attack>You are taking a small force (30 men) over the walls via the hidden path once the attack begins.

"Theyre back! Theyre back!"Shouts old Getrey, the hobbling guard lurching upright and pounding the bell above the gatehouse with a small mallet as he spies the badly finished force making their way down the roadway. Getrey's eyes arent what they used to be but even he can see the blue and white of their tunics, the white on midnight Crescent on their tattered standard standing out in the fading light. "Poor sods"He mutters, noting that less than half of them are returning, only a handful still mounted. Many of them are stained with filth and blood, tattered bandages soaked red around limbs."Dollins! Dollins! Wake up down there an' get the gate open! Sir Thylos an' his men are back! Looks to be some wounded!"

"That di'nt take long. Dirty sheep shaggers come down 'ere an' burn villages an' young folk gotta die to send 'em back to the hills.Dollins grouses as he rouses himself from the comfortable seat he has arranged for himself in the gatehouse, his aching feet put up next to a brazier burning merrily. Taking a torch in hand, he pulls a stout lever that raises the bar holding the gate shut. The thick wooden beams of its construction slowly swing outwards as Dollins and young Hallson push against them.

"By the lady"Breathes Hallson, his scraggly moustaches flicking as he licks his lips, the youth looking on the haggard men with shock in his eyes as they approach."What in the seven hells did they fight? Ogres? A fuck'n Wyrm?"

"Tribals"Grunts Dollins, the older man leaning heavily on the broad bladed spear that saw more use as walking stick than weapon of war."Some crazy fuckers from the mountains. Led by some beast of a man wit' a sword of lightning an' a shield the size of a wagon. They said 'e cut men in 'alf like they wasn't even there"

Hallson blinks in shock, running a hand through his short cropped brown hair. The youth was only a fresh recruit, the eighth unwanted son of some peasants, the iron shortsword, mail and shield likely worth more than everything his family owned."And they killed them?"

Dollins snorts like a cantankerous bull, wiping his nose with the back of a weathered hand as Getrey rings the bell yet again, calling out the return of the soldiers. Gesturing towards the ragged band of men and horses, Dollins simply says"They killed *them* too it looks like."

Hefting his torch high, Dollins steps through the gate, the flickering light casting strange shadows across the face of the mounted man leading the ragged procession. In the dim moonlight and stark orange firelight, they almost look like angular, twisting tattoos."Ho there Lancer! Where is Sir Thylos? Did he live?"

The mounted man looks around slowly, a strange expression on his face as his hand drifts to his belt."Who?"

Dollins, decades of carefully earned eflexes burning through his brain, opens his mouth to scream alarm. His words die in his throat as a curved, saw edged dagger buries itself in his neck with a lazy flick of the mounted mans wrist. He sags backwards, clutching at the bone hilt of the weapon as his lifeblood pours down his chest in scarlet streams. Hallson gapes in shock as the older guard topples to the earth. So overwhelmed is he by the sudden, shocking brutality he doesnt even get more than a gasping cry before one of the harsh faced men steps forward, punching a short spear through his belly.

Getrey stands frozen, riveted to the spot from shock, a companion and friend of decades bleeding out less than a dozen paces away. Wrenching himself away from the sight he gathers himself, hefting his small mallet and smashing into the bell with all his might."Alarm! Alarm! Raiders at the Gates! Raiders at the gates! To arms! To arms!"With each word, he pounds against the iron bell, its clear note ringing across the town as the false guardsmen pound up the stairs to the top of the gatehouse. Old Getrey dies with his last breathe a cry of warning, a dagger punching under his rib cage, spilling his life in a spurt of crimson.

>Back at the main host

The ringing bell is the signal for both your forces and the guards and townsfolk of Crescent Hall. With a single shout of "FORWARD!"The attack begins.

Near two hundred warriors of the Crag Wolves charge forward, splitting up into several groups as they sprint forward at full speed.

>Roll me four seperate 1d100. The first roll is yours (+20), the second is Wrens infiltrator team(+15), the third is the main assault (+15) and the fourth is Meiers sniper support (+10). Beat my rolls to gain objectives. Those that fail to win their objective will require assistance or face heavy losses. Meier must beat 50 to provide sniper support

By those rolls>Our assault is successful with us moving through that trench into the town>Wren sneaks in with his infiltrators through the well.>The main assault gets stopped in its tracks>Meier and his snipers are unable to assist.

>93>89. Your group scales the walls without being seen.>38>22. Wren and Ryk infiltrate the village successfully>18<63. The Main assault is stopped by a wall of shields.>32<50. Meier is unable to provide accurate fire.

The sounds of battle, conflict, screams, the clash of metal on metal comes from the gateway as the remaining guardsmen rush forward to face the foe suddenly assaulting them. Your view is obstructed by the thick foliage hanging over the ditch as you and your chosen men make your way through the hidden path. You can hear Dagmar howling out orders to his men, cursing and screaming like a madman. Panic is already spreading through the town ahead of you, torchlight and shouts and alarm reaching you from over the walls.

Levering yourself out from the ditch, you crouch by the base of the wall, flexing your hands as you regard the near fifteen feet of logs and packed earth that serves as the main barrier between you and the juicy interior of the town. You take a deep breathe as two of your men hook a rope ladder to your belt, smacking your shoulders as it is secured. You chuckle as you wedge your fingers into the gaps between the logs, heaving yourself up with a grunt of effort. One handhold after another you rise, foot by foot as the battle for the gate rages on, Dagmars men and the bulk of your forces unable to punch through the barrier of shields and spears erected by the surprisingly alert guardsmen.

With a final heave and a curse, you pull yourself over the top of the wall, pulling the rope ladder from your belt and driving the iron anchor spikes deep into the wood with a stomp of your boot, tossing the ladder down with a soft"Ways open boys"

Vicious grins and cruel laughter echo up as your men, chosen killers all, climb up one by one. With the efficiency of natural warriors, they quickly spread out, keeping eyes on the rapidly developing situation.

>Move to help Dagmar and Urhost break through.

>Try to cut off reinforcements to the gates, burning a few houses would work.

>Try to link up with Wren and Ryk. Youre not stealthy but you can murder with the best

>>2693841>>Move to help Dagmar and Urhost break through.honestly. In this instance, divine and conquer. We need to hit that shield wall from the back and cause distress in their ranks. If we do this right. Dagmar and his group will move up to us before the reinforcements deal real damage.

What if we were to offer Wren the Fighting Dagger and/or the Thorn Dagger? Would he want it, or would his current gear prove to be more superior? I know our lieutenants and men are responsible of maintaining their own gear or acquiring new ones, but do you think Wren would want some?

>>2694426Wren might like the thorn dagger, with the anticoagulant he uses coats his blades in that would be a nasty weapon. And it’d be fair considering we gave Urhost that axe. Gotta be a fair leader to our two best.

Dropping off the edge of the wall you hit the earth hard enough to drive your feet nearly an inch into the hard packed soil. Drawing the storm blade and the DarkSteel spear, the enchanted blades like an extension of your arm as you take in the sight of the formerly peaceful town.

Men and women flee from the growing melee at the gates, running from their homes, children and valuables in tow as they run for their lives. Guardsmen, some half dressed in their mail and blue-white tunics, run forward bravely, spears and billhooks, shortswords and hatchet gripped in their fists.

From the spreading screams on the eastern side of town, you know that Wren and Ryk are spreading chaos, attacking to cause more terror than damage. Torches and burning arrows fly, setting alight roofing and clothing. You can only pity any who face the masked warriors, death a certain conclusion. Its swiftness depends on which warrior is doing the killing.

However, the melee at the gates is not progressing as planned. More guards than you expected are clumping around the invading raiders, even pushing them back step by step. Urhost is clearly visible in the press, hacking and slashing with his new double headed axe. Only the ferocity of his constant assault is keeping him from being overwhelmed by the polearm wielding guardsmen.

>OP note, we are using the OLD OLD combat system established in the first few threads. I feel that gives this quest a bit more of a fun combat style that allows "lucky blows". Its kind of a roll fest but I can handle it if you guys can!

>>2695216Personally I think we have enough fuck thralls. At some point they're just going to be a name on a list that can be fucked for flavor text. That is, unless you want that then that's a good thing for you. It's just not my thing.

>>2695226well part of my line of thought was to have another themed pick, like there's three thralls to pick and we choose one who may have a unique personality or plot significance, maybe Sir Thylos has a wife or sister we can smash or something, a proper noblewoman even a minor one could be an interesting character who could teach us more of how the moonies live and operate.

Funny. While we're here we'll probably compile a shopping list for what our thralls might like

"Ok. Just down Main street is the Meadery -currently being looted- need to get a few barrels for the pups""I saw that one partially collapsed bakery on my way to burn down the church not too long ago. Gotta make sure to grab a few bags of flour and sugar.""Keera was a thief. Maybe she might think it's funny if I take the deed to the town from the mayors or lords office."

>>2695734>>2695762I don't really care for the 'waifu' aspect but as a barbarian warlord possessing many concubines to spread out our lineage is important.

I will admit though that devoting any actual time or effort into the subject beyond a certain point is ultimately a pointless venture that would be better spent progressing the actual story and developing more prominent supporting characters and Magnus.

Ultimately Its up to Cursed on how he wishes to handle the whole concubines thing but I would prefer Cursed focus on the action and plot over any sexual shenanigans, after all this isn't a lewd quest.

>>2695834I blame us for the way the thrall business is carrying out. Keera had marketable skills like the other choices when we picked her. Someone that could aid us on adventures once we garnered some loyalty. Much like Lionel and Balon. Instead we used her as a fuck toy... And we keep doing it

Cursed had done a good job developing the other two into backline support characters. They are starting to provide useful services within the crag. Helping to develop our supply lines by increasing our food production. This could certainly come into play later as we expand. Food stores that can last longer and feed more people.

Keera could be even more useful than our lieutenants if we took the time to develop her. Imagine being able to send someone into a Moonie town to spy without causing suspicion. That would give us so many tactical advantages. If we were particularly underhanded she could even perform sabotage

>>2695834>>2695829>How else do you create an army of Magnus spawn?>but as a barbarian warlord possessing many concubines to spread out our lineage is important.

I'd rather that mechanic be in the background rather than having 30 named waifus that we waste time doting on and romancing between doing things. One thing I foresee and want no part of is anons arguing over which concubine we spend time with, which one we make our top waifu, and so on nonsense.

>>2695859I for one am against bringing along waifus during work, whatever their skills.

>>2695876I mean that was thr reasion you fags picked the tiny girl over thr far superior amazon woman that could borth warrior kids and fight with us in battleStill salty over it.And we naver spand time is the cat girl when we back home any ways

Like howling demons from some village story, your men charge after you, your feet shaking the earth as you bring your blades up and bellow out"Crag Wolves! At them!"

The guardsmen of Crescent hall and the foolishly brave townsfolk have time to take in the enormity of their mistake as you sprint towards them like a avalanche. Their line falters, men turning to run, to face you, to face the men hacking through their position. Its chaos, a completely blind charge that turns a brave defense into a thrashing melee of confused bodies.

>Look them in the eye with your weapons held high, condensing frost and sparking lightning"There has been too much violence. Too much pain. But I have an honorable compromise. Just walk away. Give me your soldiers, the supplies, the riches, and the whole town, and I'll spare your lives. Just walk away and we'll give you a safe passageway in the wastelands. Just walk away and there will be an end to the horror. "

>>2696229>>2696241If this weren’t our raid, I’d 100% support diplomacy. But Dagmar’s a brutal sort of man, and he’s on the other side of this press of men. I doubt he’d actually let them live, even if they could get free from the chaos of being attacked by Crag wolves in both sides

>>2696247But if we kill them all in one go, or even if just one or two survive, we won’t need to heal. The whirlwind attack will recharge eventually, and even if two survive they just watched four of their buddies fall into a literal blender, they’re going to be shitting themselves.

Just saying, if we can get them to surrender we'll preserve more of our fighting men, others see these men surrendering? Contagious, and they can see that we won't just slaughter them all, making them less willing to fight like cornered rats.

>>2696134It’s not gay to breed an army with the badass stacked Amazon warrior chick. Missed opportunity though. I suppose breeding an army of normal sized people with the tiny midget bitch will be better than nothing.

Your men smash into the rear of the defensive line like a hammer into soft iron. Blades lash out, opening bellies and throats. Axes and hammers come down with force enough to shatter shields and split helms. Spears thrust forward, leaf shaped and barbed heads slick with blood. You shout in bloody, savage glee, punching out with the butt of the storm blade, splitting a burly townsman's cheek open to the bone, sending him toppling backward as you lash out with elbows, kicks and headbutts, clearing room enough to swing your weapons as the press ebbs and flows like the tides, men pushing and shoving, stabbing and slashing, biting and gouging.

"Oi! There's that big cunt who burnt up Yoel's Chapel!"Shouts a half dressed guard, leveling a blood slickened halberd in your direction. His face is splattered with gore, blood dripping from a torn lip and broken tooth, likely a errant swipe of a shield.

At his words, a group of men turn to face you, weapons held in clenched fists and eyes filled with a mix of hate and fear. Youre sure the horror stories told by the simple farm folk of the three villages youd burned like tinderboxes were terrible indeed. You eye your opponents, your men wisely going around the soon to be fighting ring, some of them eying the future corpses with something close to pity.

" 'eard 'e was a giant. Stronger'n fifty men an' slingin' lightnin'. 'es just some big cunt lads. We can take'im!"Growls one of the militia, a squat, barrel chested man with a bushy, greying beard, a pickhammer held across his body, his leg-thick arms splattered with clotted blood.

A brute of a man, nearly your equal height, nose nearly squashed flat from some back alley brawl flowers at you. He hefts a cleaver the size of a great axe, its edge notched and gleaming wickedly."He won't be so big when I cut 'is legs off at th'knees"

Squaring up against you, forming into a rough semicircle, your opponents truly fail to impress. A pair of guardsmen, one a fog eyed old man and the other a half grown boy, a tavern thug, a butcher, a miner and a half mad street urchin with a long rusted dagger.

Before they can move, respond, attack, breathe or piss themselves, you have thrown yourself forward, bringing both heavy, wickedly sharp blades around in a sweeping strike that comes around like the edge of a water powered saw. Behind your armored helm, behind your layers of leather and mail, behind your scarred flesh, your blood is singing that battlesong all true warriors know well.

>>2697219The Tavern thug, his brawny arms lined with thick scars, a long heavy bladed dagger, its hilt remade into a spiked knuckleduster is the first to meet your blade. You're sure his might and ferocity has served him well in his life. It doesn't serve him well at all against you. Foolishly charging forward, his face goes tight with disbelieving agony as the DarkSteel spear slides through the muscle and bone of his chest. Frozen gore coats your blade as it glides through him, splitting his chest open so deeply the frozen flesh simply slides apart, revealing bone and glistening organs in the ruinous cut. He topples to the side, dead and limp before he hits the earth.

"Holy fu-gah!"The elder guard manages to curse out as half dozen frozen gore splatters his face, flinching backward reflexively. The instinctive jerk saves his life as the storm blade kisses through his mail, splitting the metal ringers like silk as it carves through the flesh of his belly, opening a deep gash that gushes crimson across his tunic, his hand clutching the wound as he stumbles backward.

Roaring like a bear, the towering butcher draws back his meter long cleaver, the blade glittering in the light. Twisting toward the blow, you grin viciously as you bring the DarkSteel spear around in a looping slash that hacks into the side of the mans thigh. Steel scrapes on bone, tendon snaps like overly tightened cord, flesh chills and hardens under the cruel magic of the steel. The brute yanks himself back somehow, saving himself from losing the leg miraculously.

Without even slowing, you turn again, bringing your blades back around towards the younger guard, the boy drawing his spear back to thrust into your side. Somehow, owing to a ancestor who was part rabbit possibly, he jerks out of reach of your swing, the storm blade simply snipping a thin line across his tunic.

"Hah!"He shouts with the foolishness and bravery of youth, jabbing forward with his spear. You barely even register as the spearpoint glances from your pauldron, carving a thin line in the metal.

"RAAAAAH!!"Shouts the burly miner, charging forward with his pickhammer hefted high above his head. You grit your teeth and *turn* so quickly that the air whistles. The pick head of the hammer slams into the earth just behind your feet as you bring the blades around, slashing a pair of deep gashes into the layered muscle of his back. Cursing and spitting, he stumbles forward, clutching his back as blood gushes forth in scarlet streams.

>>2697226Wheeling on the filthy urchin, the grimy man grinning madly, cracked blackened teeth clenched tight as he lunges forward on nearly all fours. Tucking into a roll he simply slides under your blow, greasy hairs clipped free by the razor edge of the storm blade.

*snik*

"Fucker!"You snarl as the long, slender dagger in his hand punches into the back of your calf, scoring deep into the muscle and drawing rivulets of blood. Turning to stomp the wretch into the earth you snarl in pain again as the knobbed club in his off hand smashes into your kneecap, crushing the skin and numbing the bone.

>>2699656Intimidation factor. Using an opponent to beat another to death.

Its used under Fight brutally which is an intimidation option.

Generally speaking if someone is strong enough to swing a grown man in armor around and club another grown man in armor to death, then things have officially went tits up and it's best to run the fuck away.

You bare your teeth in a savage grin behind your helm, the iron beaded with blood as you face your foes. The wounded miner curses your name and ancestry, spitting insults through clenched teeth and bristly beard. The massive butcher limps forward half a step, his wounded leg streaming blood, his face tight and set with pain as he clenches the massive cleaver in both hands. The young guard stands in front of his wounded fellow, his spear and rounded shield shaking slightly as he takes in the enormity of the foe before him. The old warrior behind him dribbles blood from his lips, muttering advice, prayers, warnings, nonsense to the younger man.

And there,leering like some imp from a story is the grinning madman, his dagger wet with your blood and his knobbed, hardwood club twirling like a baton. His smile has never faltered, eyes wide and glassy, the few teeth he has filed to needle sharp points.

You simply growl in response, your sheer malevolent hatred rumbling from your chest as you eye your foes and make your decision in an instant.

Spilling their blood isn't enough. You must break them. Body and spirit.

You'll start with their bodies.

"You barbarian fuck!"Shouts the young guardsman, charging forward in a moment of bravado as you turn slightly. His eyes widen as you wheel on him like an angered bull, realizing that your seeming lapse was a feint. His heels dig into the earth as he attempts to backpedal, to dodge, to avoid a maiming blow like he did before.

The boy may be fast, but hes not nearly fast enough as your arm punches out, driving the enchanted blade of the DarkSteel spear into his gut. Choked gasps and grunts of shock sound out from the other militia as the youth freezes, looking down at the nearly four foot long blade embedded deeply into his body, nearly impaling him completely. Blood freezes into ruby crystals around the cruel blade, the exposed flesh growing stiff and white, blackened around the edges of the weapon. With a scream of disbelieving agony, the youth stumbles back, falling onto his rear, clutching the foreign object despite the frost creeping over his rapidly freezing fingers.

"Basta-Grk!"The butchers shout of rage as he charges in on your off side is cut off as your recently freed hand snaps out, gripping him by the throat. Gauntleted fingers dig into flesh with enough force to squeeze shut his windpipe, his cleaver dropping as he desperately scrabble at your hand. His struggles only grow as you lift him into the air with the ease of someone lifting a child, his feet kicking wildly as his face turns first scarlet, then purple, his eyes swelling and his tongue poking between swollen lips.

The madmans gibbering is cut off suddenly as you wheel, knowing his fondness for attacks from the rear. Your newfound bludgeon flails wildly as you grip him by throat, swinging him up and around to smash down on the urchin like a hammer. Bone audibly shatters, flesh pulps and tears, blood splatters the hard packed soil as you punctuate each word with another titanic blow.

"BE"*WHAM*"QUIET"*WHAM*"YOU"*WHAM*"RAT!!!"*CRUNCH*

Breathing heavily, you lift the barely living butcher off of the thick red paste that used to be the devious little madman. Spitting onto his grisly remains, you toss the limp form of the butcher towards his companions, the brutalized man flopping like a rag doll, blood leaking from lips, nose and ears.

The wounded young guard shakea his head, ddetermined to stand with his fellows but the wounded miner shakes his head, joining in, keeping an eye on you as he hefts his pickhammer once again, nudging the comatose butcher with a boot"'Es roight boy. Go on. We'll be right behind ya. Don't worry bout us"

Shoving the youth away with a bloodied hand, the elder guard turns to you, fixing you with his good eye as he levels his broad bladed spear at you, his wrinkled mouth set in a determined line."We got business you an' I. M'youngest son was sent out to fight ya bastards off. M'eldest was at SilverBirch. Ya took m'boys from me."

You grin savagely, your laugh chilling even you as you can feel the presence of eyes upon you, eyes that have seen infinite lifetimes of war"I will take *everything* from you old man"

>>2700395>beat a motherfucker with another motherfucker>you can feel the presence of eyes upon you, eyes that have seen infinite lifetimes of war>Vaal like thatYou know that even if the boy get that spear out of him he's already dead.>Throwing axeKirik. Might as well put the dog out.

>>2700395Take a throwing Axe out somewhat dramaticly and chuck that thing with all our might at the running boy, one of the guys who stayed will have to take the hit to save the lad, we finish off the last one then follow him back to his house to his Ma and introduce her to our other hammer, rape then smash her head like a melon infront of him

>>2700395>Other>>Throwing axe in each handKirik is trying to book it with our spear. That does not fly. does not fly at fucking all.

One for Kirik, one for the old man, if we Kirik doesn't go down, 2 for him. After that, just snap the neck of the angry father and be done with it. Though he follows the moon whore, Vall appreciates the bitter hate of a man with nothing left to loose. Let him die as a warrior.

You don't waste time on preamble, threats, boasts or even noise of any kind. These men stand against you and for that They will die. The blood of their friends, families, countrymen, staining the ground at your feet and wetting your blades as you stoop, picking the somehow removed DarkSteel spear from the earth. A spreading circle of ice crystals coats the dirt around the blade as you wrap your gauntleted fingers around the hilt. Rising, you fix your gaze on the two elders, the men sharing one last look.

"Bout that time in'nit Janus?"Growls the miner, tendon and muscle jumping in his arms as he works the haft of his pickhammer, glowering at you.

Without even glancing, the fog eyed guard steps toward you, his spear angled over his shield."Bout that time Hadrik. Y'still owe a drink down at Geor's"

With a snort, the miner follows his companions example, stepping forward as well."I s'pose we'll be settlin' up after"

And with that, it begins.

With a roar of fatherly rage, the elder guardsmen, Janus, lunges forward with his spear, the broad blade punching through the air, both edges honed to a shine. The wooden spear shaft snaps like a twig as your storm blade bats it aside, clipping through the wood like a green twig. Dropping the now useless weapon, Janus punches out with the rim of his shield, the thick iron band more than enough to shell out your teeth. His grunt of effort cuts off as you backstep, both blades moving in a scissoring arc that shears through the shield and the arm behind it. Blood spurts from the severed limb, the elder mans face paling with disbelieving agony as he still tries to fight you, one hand going for the curved dagger at his belt. His teeth clench near hard enough ti shatter as gripes for the edged steel, his frantic pawing freezing as you while about in a half step, burying the storm blade through his chest, all the way to the hilt. Elemental energy courses down the blade, the flesh ioof hhhis chest scorching under the heat, his bone scorching, blood boiling, but *still* he defies you, refusing to die. With a powerful upwards thrust of the DarkSteel spear, his defiance ends, a full meter of the blade jutting from the top of his skull, blood tricking from his lips and freezing around the blade embedded under his jaw. You stare into his eyes for the briefest of moments as he dies, the light fading as his body gives up, his soul claimed by the Lady of the Moon. For just a moment, those eyes look *smug*

Red hot agony courses through your body as the miner moves with surprising speed, drawing his pickhammer back driving it with all the might in his body directly into your side. With your attention diverted on the devilishly tough guard, the attack blindsided you, nearly six inches of the piercing pick digging into your flesh, tearing open a deep gash that extends nearly a foot as he tears the weapon down, the point scraping across your ribs.

Blood sheets down your side in a scarlet river as you turn on the miner so fast that it sprays out in a arc of crimson. He hefts his pickhammer again, teeth bared and eyes narrowed as he faces death incarnate.

To say he died messily, would be a understatement.

Blood fountains into the air as you bring both blades across your body in blurring slashes that carve deep into his chest and belly. Turning as he lurches back, you bring the DarkSteel spear around, driving it through his side, spitting him like a pig. Blood fountains from his mouth as his hands lose their strength, his lungs filling with blood as he stumbles forward, choking on his own life.

He stumbles forward directly into the fury of a storm.

With a corona of crackling energy clinging ti the blade, you bring the curved greatsword around in a sweeping arc that cleaves through the mans thick neck like a chickens. Smoke and the stench of burned flesh billows upward as he sags, falling limply to his knees as his head topples, rolling across the dirt.

Planting your boot on his corpse, you rip your spear free, blood trickling down your side as you heft both weapons high, shouting in victory. All around you, men are fighting and dying, battling for the gates of this small town but you *know* that there will be more after this. This is just the beginning of your greatness.

>How is the battle for the gate going?>Roll me a D100+20. Beat this Roll pls

>>2702393That doesn't matter if our men start dropping like flies and the raid fails though. Matter of fact, fighting men are in very limited supply, every man lost is hard to replace due to our low population.

>>2702402There's a lack of the taste of failure in this quest honestly, wouldn't hurt to have some.

All around you, the defensive line of the militia and guardsmen is falling apart. Men lie in heaps, hacked to pieces, run through with spears, brained with hammers and maces. Those foolish enough to stand after being flanked from behind are quickly overwhelmed and butchered, dispatched with the ease of sheep.

Dagmar wipes his mouth with his sleeve, spitting blood, his mouth full of blood from a broken nose. Blood seeps from a thin gash across his neck and from his upper arm, his serrated shortswords caked in gore. His men paid the heaviest toll in lives for this gateway, nearly twenty of the raiders lying still upon the earth. Those wounded but still able to walk are quickly bandaged and splinted, their wounds treated to the best of their fellows ability. The wounded militia and guards are not afforded the same mercy, sharp jabbing spears and daggers find their way to throats and behind ears.

Urhost coughs, hacking and spitting onto the ruined corpse of a guard, the man hacked into pieces so small he could be buried in his helm. The veteran warrior holds his new axe high in greeting to you, clasping a hand to a dripping gash in his side, likely the unfortunate guardsmans spear being the culprit. Arvel laughs madly, his hatchet lost in some poor saps head, both fists soaked in blood and smeared with brain, the studded leather wraps about his fists black with gore. Lionel and Balon stalk among the wounded, giving the mercy stroke to those that used to be their countrymen. Both men have taken to their new roles well and neither were harmed at all in the eengagement.

With a slight nod to you, Dagmar raises his voice above the clamor of the quickly panicking town."RIGHT THEN! LISTEN UP! We've got the gates so none of these fuckers are getting out unless we let them! I need twenty men to watch the gates, make sure nobody gets by you. The rest of you fuckers, get moving! Those towers need to be cleared out and we need to move up to support Ryk's group!"

>>2702758I think Urhost or Lionel & Balon should stay at the gate along with the injured and recovering men to make sure no one escapes. We can ignore Kirik. The boy probably bleed out and died of hypothermia by now.

Avrel and out men will split up to deal with the towers while Dagmar's party will butcher their way to Wren and Ryk. Alternatively, we can focus on the towers while Avrel's party supports Dagmar's.

"Magnus. What do you want?"His voice is thick and nasally from his shattered nose, his temper obviously at a breaking point. To your amusement he seems to brighten a bit as he takes in the ragged tear in your side.

"My men and I are ready to move. Where do you need us?You rest your weapons point downward on the ground, nodding your head towards the sound of fighting from the streets ahead.

Dagmar grimaces, running a thumb over the guard of one of his shortswords as he thinks. Finally he nods, turning to point with one of the cruelly jagged blades towards the eastern edge of the town."We don't have many men over there. The Moonie fucks might try to hold up there and give us hell. If you can break through anything they put up, you'll drive them back into the center of town"

You nod, dipping your head just enough ti be polite. Turning to your lieutenants you raise your voice enough for them to hear."Alright. Urhost, Arvel, get yourselves patched up and follow Dagmar into the center. Watch your heads and keep your guard up. Ill be on the eastern side, working my way inward. With luck well all meet in the center"

Urhost grunts assent, swinging his axe back up onto his shoulder, wiping blood from his face and grinning slightly."We'll meet ya there Magnus. Don't take a bolt in the ass"

>Urhost will push ahead with his unit of warriors, Balon, Lionel, Arvel and Dagmar's men (+25)2>Wren and Ryk are still sowing chaos around the north end of the city (+15)>Meier is still providing supporting fire (+15)>you are pushing around to the eastern side of the city, dislodging any hard points. (+20)

>>2703476>Urhost will push ahead with his unit of warriors, Balon, Lionel, Arvel and Dagmar's men (+25) 70=95>Wren and Ryk are still sowing chaos around the north end of the city (+15) 55=70>Meier is still providing supporting fire (+15) 94=109>you are pushing around to the eastern side of the city, dislodging any hard points. (+20) 51=71Pretty damn good. Looks like Meier might make good on the "4 people a minute" boast.

Are we going to raid on our own terms, try to absorb some of the other tribes, go tomb raiding for more flashy magic equipment, questing for Magnus upgrades, capturing beasts for the Crag Wolves to use, or are they any other options I haven't mentioned that any other anons have thought up.

Personally I would like to beef Magnus up some more and then start our bid for tribal confederation/conquest.

>>2704537Consolidating power amongst the tribes is probably a good idea. We've stirred up the moonies enough that they have stories about Magnus. If they get pissed off enough they could march on the crag before we have the strength to repel them.

>>2704563We could do some recon on other tribes while also getting swole. Like the little war we started between the two weak tribes while we were out tomb raiding. Take the opportunities as they present themselves

>>2704576It's all in how we react to seeing others. It's usually bloodshed. Last time meeting the inbred goat fuckers I get, nobody wanted them for allies. Maybe if we meet a group with more to offer then we play nice

The Wyrmkillers (the tribe we pinned the attack on the Cavestalkers on) are most likely a good prospect. Their tribe consists of older men who are past their primes and young men who are untested and unblooded. Helping them in the tribal war may provide us with opportunity to get them to align with the crag wolves.

Magnus could provide them with an able experienced leader to lead their old men on their final hurrah while providing the young men the opporunity to establish themselves as warriors.

>>2704581Granted, a bunch of retarded cannibals would have made for poor friends certainly, but if we intend to one day have leadership of not only the Crag Wolves but also the other tribes we're going to have to work on using avenues of approach aside from kill everything. The one thing that they all offer though, is warriors. The more the merrier.

>>2704594>>2704602Yeah we need to make friends. Maybe we should scout out how that conflict is going and if the opportunity is there we make the Wyrmkillers an offer. We should also scout the other tribes and see what troubles they have. If we can solve problems it could help bring everyone under one banner. Like an old school rpg